


Seed

by ilija



Category: Bleach
Genre: Anal Sex, Ass to Mouth, Dubious Consent, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mild Painplay, Multiple Orgasms, Murder Husbands, No Lube
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-01
Updated: 2016-07-01
Packaged: 2018-07-19 08:26:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7353394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilija/pseuds/ilija
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gin sleeps and sleeps, waking only to doze off again. Once, he’s awakened by Aizen biting into the sharp slope between his neck and shoulder and dreams of being eaten to the bone, even his face.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seed

**Author's Note:**

> Heed the tags and the fact that this is Aizen and Gin, lol. My first fic for 'em, which makes me soooo happy because they've been my otp for years *_* I hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it.

In Hueco Mundo the sun never sets completely under the horizon. Somewhere in the distance light bleeds gray and sharp in the distance, never letting the sky devolve completely into darkness. It’s either perpetual dawn or perpetual noon. 

Gin gave up on keeping any sort of clock. Whether it was weeks or months ago, it doesn’t matter.

As the days run together like murky ink and water Gin reaches a sort of numbness, losing touch with his surroundings, and settles into a default of work, meetings, talks with the Espada, and conversing with Aizen. Trying to keep busy eventually becomes tedious. 

Aizen makes a comment that he hasn’t noticed Gin eating lately. Gin, masking nausea with mirth, asks if Aizen still thinks he’s not a big boy yet. He can take care of himself. Aizen’s eyes sparkle with some sort of sick glee when Gin responds like that, getting off of Gin’s back for a while so Gin can remain in his room alone and in peace.

After that conversation Gin sleeps. He sleeps and sleeps, waking only to doze off again. Once, he’s awakened by Aizen biting into the sharp slope between his neck and shoulder and dreams of being eaten to the bone, even his face.

Gin awakens once more and the sun still hasn’t moved from peeking beyond the horizon. Wind scatters grains of sand and bone fragments about in swirls that decorate the landscape. His stomach rumbles with such a force that he knows he’s been out for days.

The pomegranate that he snuck into his robes is the only source of color in the room. It’s overly ripe. The juice and pulp stains Gin’s cuticles and under his nails when he clenches his fist and the skin yields harshly. The color hurts his eyes but it calms him. Monitoring his reiatsu and his pulse, Gin bites into the fruit’s innards in small, slow, savory bits. He keeps some extra seeds in his pocket, just in case.

The sun barely moves in the time Gin watches it so he almost doesn’t notice when a set of large, cold fingertips slide against his nape and into his hair. Gin smirks. “Aizen-san.”

Aizen curls his fingers and tugs on Gin’s hair, just enough to make him sit up straighter. “I was wondering when your stomach would wake you.”

“Mm,” Gin replies, shrugging and licking a seed from in between his thumb and forefinger. He quirks an eyebrow when Aizen’s nostrils flare. “I woke up before it could wake me.

“A case of restlessness and restfulness,” Aizen rubs at Gin’s scalp and Gin nuzzles back against the palm like a tired cat. “I imagine you’re still tired.”

“Mhmm, very.”

“Please don’t talk with your mouth full.”

Gin swallows and holds the fruit in both of his hands, silent. “Aizen-san, ain’t there any new developments yet?”

“You know I would let you know if I did have news.”

“Yeah, I know, but I’d still rather be walkin’ round the desert ‘r something rather than sittin’ and lookin’ at it,” Gin’s toes flex into the sheets. Aizen slides atop the duvet, uniform and boots and all, and sits to Gin’s side, facing him even as Gin still stares out of the window. His hand never leaves the silver strands.

“It’s kinda like bein’ a fish in a bowl, or a dog in a cage,” Gin pauses to take another bite, swallows. “Y’know, fish actually ain’t supposed to be in bowls. Same thing with rats ‘n stuff. They grow fat ‘n lazy and die of boredom.”

A yank of his hair makes Gin half-choke on a seed. “But isn’t it supposed to be adventurous to have a world unknown out there? I always found mysteries very tantalizing.”

Aizen rubs his fingers in soothing circles against the stinging area on Gin’s scalp, more so to tangle the hair tighter around the digits than to soothe, and Gin shrugs.

In the poorest areas of the Rukongai it was important to move. It was important to hunt. It was how he found the persimmons that he would slip into Rangiku’s hand. It was how he found Rangiku herself. Gin doesn’t know how to stay still. Perpetually restless, wandering with only the aim of survival, to the next point on the map. No matter how smooth the floors underneath him, Gin’s soles are worn numb with his constant moving about.

It spreads like gangrene, like Aizen’s hands crawling across his shoulders. A seed cracks in between Gin’s teeth. “You’ll make a mess of these sheets.”

Gin smirks and bites extra viciously into the fruit. Now the juice runs down his neck and Aizen doesn’t disguise his force when he pulls Gin back by his hair. “Ah, I’ve done worse to better,” Gin replies, snarky to his bones. Aizen leans forward and, with an obscene noise, sucks at the two seeds stuck to the corner of Gin’s mouth.

Gin clutches the fruit tighter as Aizen spits into Gin’s waiting mouth before kissing him, teeth biting pale lips and coaxing the scrap of tongue out, wet and determined. Gin loses count of who dominates who and grabs Aizen by the coat with his free hand.

Persimmons, he wants persimmons, the pomegranate juice makes his and Aizen’s hands stick together when Aizen pins him down, the sensation making the fruit roil in Gin’s stomach. His hands go clammy and he clutches at the sheets so Aizen doesn’t notice. But he could never ask Aizen.

Once more, he walks among bones both human and animal alike.

Aizen’s teeth bite flat and sharp like a razor’s edge and Gin moans when they slide down his jaw and collar, bone against skin against bone. One hand still holds Gin’s wrist flat to the bed and his bones ache as they rub against each other. Gin lifts his hips but Aizen pushes him back, flat and trapped on the bed.

“A mess,” Aizen murmurs against the hollow dip under Gin’s ribcage. “Who knows what I’ll have to do with you…?” his tone croons like a lullaby but it’s like a tolling of death bells to Gin, who shudders from a sharp mix of arousal and fear. Aizen’s _modus operandi_ : it doesn’t exist; and that’s what makes Gin so _excited_.

The fruit rolls away when Aizen lets go of his wrist. Sweat gathers under Gin’s collar when Aizen uses his sash to tie his wrists behind his back. Gin crosses his ankles at the small of Aizen’s back, wrapping long lean legs around Aizen’s hips as he rises, a broad and shadowy tower over Gin. Aizen’s own sash falls across Gin and it slides down when Gin’s cock throbs, taking interest in the way Aizen disrobes himself.

 _Stings_ , Gin thinks when his fingernails cut into his palm and the pomegranate juice touches the wounds. Aizen’s entry is careless, a quick hot roll of his hips that draws Gin taut as a bowstring. Gin moans against Aizen’s shoulder and the low chuckle makes the space between them vibrate.

“ _Boring_ ,” Gin gasps around Aizen’s fingers when he shoves them into his gasping mouth, four at once, only to pull them out and wrap them around Gin’s throat. “Just passin’ time is boring.”

“Is that what it is, passing time?” His knuckles flex and Gin croaks out a moan.

“Passin’ time-- alone,” Gin digs his nails in deeper as Aizen continues his heavy steady rolls of his hips, “Watchin’ the sun never move.”

“It’s only been three days, Gin,” Aizen’s voice is velvety but his tongue is sharp as it delves into Gin’s ear.

“Three days of-- staring at some-- watercolor lookin’, _ah_ , Aizen-san,” Gin is quickly rolled over onto his stomach, face first in the pillow and hips raised. Aizen likes to blindfold him often, and in the perpetual dusk of Las Noches Gin has grown accustomed to the dark but Aizen’s hand is still, startlingly, wrapped around his neck.

“How can such a piece of work like yourself have such disdain for art,” Gin knows Aizen is staring at him like a slab of meat on the block, running his tongue over his teeth, so it’s no surprise to him when Aizen fully clutches Gin’s throat after he inhales and immediately begins a brutal pace.

From his head to his toes Gin burns, from lack of air and the brutal treatment Aizen is dishing out on his body and the unrest spilling out of him with every drop of pre-cum that leaks out of his dick. He can’t breathe enough to moan. He clenches around Aizen and Gin can feel him shudder.

The hand on his throat doesn’t let up but Aizen pulls Gin back by the hips with his other hand, his ass flush with Aizen’s front, and Aizen begins to rut. Gin feels like he’s going to die, impaled by Aizen with bruises ringing his neck like a guillotine scar. Let it be, Gin thinks through his mental fog. He’s floating, held up only by Aizen’s hold around his throat and his dick lodged deep within Gin, the underside of his dick pressing harder and hard against his prostate on every stroke inward.

Suddenly, Gin’s vision goes red-streaked-black and he arches back at a near impossible angle, his orgasm tearing through his spine like a knife and no noise comes out even as Aizen shoves him back into the pillow, fingers loosened around his throat but still there, a cage to keep him still.

Gin’s cry, _Taichou_ , is absorbed by the pillow.

“Will you say that again for me, Gin?” Aizen continues his brutal thrusts inside, though sweat now beads at his forehead and one runs down his face and jaw. Gin, his tongue dry, wants to lick.

“T-Taichou,” Gin groans, limp and held up only by Aizen’s hands on his hips. Pleased, Aizen strokes the small of Gin’s back before pressing down, making his cock nearly dig into Gin’s prostate.

This time, Gin yells, “ _Taichou_ \--!” and he feels like something splits in his throat on the pitch upward, Aizen pulling out and thrusting back in so hard that Gin’s toes and fingers curl and he cums a second time, loud and spectacular and all over his duvet.

Aizen’s torturous treatment halts and Gin can feel him throb, thrusting in a few more times while his pace peters out. A bit of cum almost immediately makes its way down Gin’s inner thigh when Aizen pulls out. Short of breath, he leans down to kiss Gin on the ear before biting once and pulling back.

Gin knows what to expect next. Limp and dizzy, he’s rolled onto his back and Aizen sits on his chest, his dick sticky and in his hand. Gin’s arms tingle and he looks at the ceiling. Aizen holds Gin by the jaw with his other hand and slides his thumb in between those thin lips, hooking over Gin’s sharper teeth and pulling his mouth open. Gin sticks his tongue out, by reflex than by acquiescence, and Aizen purrs, “You’ll clean me up, won’t you.” It’s not a question.

The full length of Aizen’s dick, still warm from Gin’s ass, hits the back of Gin’s throat but so focused is Gin on the ceiling that he lets it slide in, the girth stretching his already sore throat but he swallows nonetheless and lets his tongue curl around the underside as Aizen slips back out.

After tucking himself away Aizen lifts Gin up by the waist and unties his numb arms. Gin’s knuckles pop in quick succession when he uncurls his fingers, blood from his palms staining the sheets in little droplets. Never one to leave unfinished business, Aizen curls around Gin, a serpent around a dagger, and cradles his head in mock comfort before kissing Gin so hard he can taste a bit of himself on the back of his tongue.

Gin automatically clutches at Aizen like a lifeline because in the post-coital moment that’s what he is. When Aizen drops him it’s like a free fall into a pit until the duvet catches him and he sighs. “You wore me out again, taichou.”

“Nobody likes a dirty mouth, Gin,” Aizen taps his finger against Gin’s lips.

Sardonic even in a haze Gin smirks. “That so?” And he makes a point of sliding his tongue over his teeth. Aizen doesn’t even flinch but Gin takes note of the way Aizen’s pupils dilate and tucks it away for later.

“Say, Aizen-san,” Gin rolls over and pillows his head on folded hands, Aizen tucking Gin’s jacket back up and over his shoulder again. “You gotta keep more food in here. I get hungry after I wake up.”

“Well, do you have a preference?” 

.

.

.

“Pomegranates're fine.”

\--

Watching over the fake Karakura behind a wall of fire, Gin doesn’t sweat but the pomegranate seeds bake in his pocket, little dots of heat pressing against his breastbone. He planted one in the desolate Hueco Mundo plain, a rash and futile decision, with a child-like hope that he would come back, maybe, and it would have grown, possibly.

When he meets Rangiku later, once more he takes her hand, this time slipping the pomegranate seeds into her palm, before shoving her back and returning back to Aizen. Somehow, his jacket feels heavier without them.

**Author's Note:**

> As per my usual, self-beta'd. Any mistakes are mine.


End file.
